


Whatever It Takes

by fingerscrossed_tryingsomethingnew



Series: I'm Gonna Love You (Like I'm Gonna Lose You) [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avenger Reader (Marvel), F/M, Grief/Mourning, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingerscrossed_tryingsomethingnew/pseuds/fingerscrossed_tryingsomethingnew
Summary: Time travel isn't all that it's cracked up to be, and war takes its toll.Or, the fallout is worse than the fight.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Harley Keener, Clint Barton & Reader, Harley Keener & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Reader, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Reader, Tony Stark & Reader
Series: I'm Gonna Love You (Like I'm Gonna Lose You) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752376
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. A Leap of Faith

Y/N’s heart honest-to-god squeezes in her chest when Clint drops to his knees next to her, baseball mitt clutched tightly in his hands.

His breathing is labored, and she can see tears beginning to collect in his eyes as he hugs the mitt closer. “Lila,” he breathed, eyes never leaving the mitt in his hand.

“Holy fucking shit,” Rocket murmurs from somewhere in the circle. “It worked.”

It’s the phrase on everyone’s minds.

Y/N slips her hand into Clint’s once he stands up, squeezing three times. _It’s okay. We can do this. We’ll get them back._ She sees Harley’s hand come up to clasp Clint’s shoulder on his other side; behind Clint, they shoot each other looks filled with more emotion than either of them can explain.

Clint hadn’t stopped feeling like a father because he had lost his kids; the instincts were still there, and there was no shortage of lost kids loose in the compound the past few years. Harley had lost his mom and his sister in the snap, and the grief in his eyes mirrored Clint’s. The two had managed to keep each other grounded, tethered to the Earth by something other than gravity.

The sound of Tony clearing his throat stopped her waxing poetic about found father figures. He clapped his hands together, a small smirk curving across his lips. “I know how much you all love hearing me speak,” he started, ignoring the groans and quips from around the circle. “But I’m gonna turn this one over to the Captain. Cap?”

Y/N admired him as Steve stood straighter, his eyes taking in every face around him. Every whisper of doubt that had circled him late into the night and early into the morning– the doubt that Y/N had spent hours chasing away with confidence, hope, and her unwavering belief in him– faded and dimmed as grim determination set in. It was in the set of his shoulders, in the blue of his eyes, and in the certainty of his words as he began to speak.

“Five years ago, we all lost. We lost friends. We lost family. We lost a part of ourselves. Today, we have a chance to take it all back,” Steve says. His voice is certain in a way that infuses the team with the same battle-readiness that he always carries. “Know your teams. Know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs.”

The room is silent except for Steve as he casts a glance at every one of them. “Most of us are going somewhere we know– that doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. We’re gonna win.”

“Whatever it takes,” he swears, eyes never wavering from Tony. “Good luck.”

Heat sparks in Y/N’s chest as he speaks, and she’s reminded, for the millionth time, that this is the man she loves. Every single time, it hits her like a lightning strike to the chest; it charges every single molecule, and she buzzes with the electricity of it.

Steve turns to look at her, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. She flicks an eyebrow upward, a silent question. His stare is puzzled, but his smile is amused. “You’re glowing,” he says, simply.

She wants to say that she absolutely is _not_ , but it does happen occasionally. Mostly when she goes off on romantic tangents in her head– and her cheeks redden slightly when she remembers that he _knows that._ A pinch on her arm draws her attention to Harley as she hears Bruce and Tony readying the machines.

The portal opens and the light is almost blinding.

The smile on Harley’s face and the hope in his eyes are radiant. “You better finally teach me that handshake when we get back, Sunshine,” he demands, scrunching his nose. “See you in a minute.” He winks.

After that, it’s a leap of faith.

* * *

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s America’s Ass!” Scott pipes up, his voice tinny in Y/N’s ear.

She rolls her eyes despite her secret agreement. Steve Rogers was eye candy from every angle, no matter what he was wearing. Since, _of course,_ the plan has already gone to shit and Past-Steve had the scepter, they’d had to adapt– which is why she’s in a supply closet tugging on a pencil skirt and a blouse, ignoring the chatter in her ear as the rest of them do their parts. She slides on the glasses that Tony had given her to make her look “more innocuous” (whatever that meant). She has mere moments before she’s supposed to orchestrate a run-in with past-Steve. “Alright, I’m good to go. Just say when.” 

She has time to take a breath. And another.

“When.” Steve’s voice in her ear is a caress that jolts her into action.

She exits the storage closet, bumping right into past-Captain America and stumbling to the ground. She plays the part of the bumbling ditz ever-so-perfectly. “Oh, god. I’m so, so sorry. Oh, my God– You’re Captain America. I just bumped into Captain America. Is that treason or something?”

“Somebody give her an Oscar,” she hears Scott mumble in her earpiece.

Past-Steve’s lips tip into a smile, and he places the case down before stepping forward to extend a hand to her, ever the gentleman– exactly what they had counted on (“Listen, doll. I was always a sucker for anyone in distress– make it a pretty damsel like you, and you probably could’ve swindled me out of my shield,” Steve had said with a laugh).

God, she ached to cup his cheek, to press her mouth to his soft lips, to brush back the strand of hair that fell over his forehead. He clasped her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. “Miss? Are you okay?”

She hardly heard him as she noticed _her_ Steve approach from the corner of her eye. She shifted her attention back to past-Steve before he could notice. Past-Steve looked concerned, eyes scanning her for injuries, his hand not leaving her arm where it had come to steady her.

She tilted her head to the side, wondering _why_ she had to restrain herself. Distracting him was her role, wasn’t it? And even if he rejected her, Steve Rogers would never be anything but gentle in his dismissal of her advances.

She played bashful, batting her lashes at him and looking back at the ground before gazing dreamily at him. “I’m fine, Captain Rogers,” she reassured him. “Just… wondering how to thank one of the world’s mightiest heroes.”

  
Past-Steve turned bashful, his cheeks taking on a pink tinge as he kicked at the ground. She doesn’t give him the chance to respond. Y/N pressed a hand to his cheek, soft and gentle, leaning up on her tiptoes. She brushes a hand over his cheekbone like she always does with _her_ Steve.   
  
His eyes widen, and her breath fans over his face. “Thank you, Captain Rogers,” she whispers (if her voice is a little breathier than usual, would anyone really be able to blame her?), and she allows her lips to melt against his. Her body sags against his because this may not be _her_ Steve (some part of her mind wondered _where in the hell_ her Steve was and why he didn’t grab the goddamn case yet) but he’s still fundamentally Steve– a contradiction of muscled and soft, tough but gentle. He smells invitingly warm and spicy like her Steve. He _tastes_ like her Steve, lips as lush and pliant as ever. He feels like _home_ like her Steve.

Most importantly, he didn’t hold her like he was about to break her heart.

To her surprise, his lips move slightly against hers and his hands come to rest on her waist. It’s a nice moment.

Or, it is until _her_ Steve _fumbles the goddamn case_.

“Shit,” past-Steve swears under his breath, pulling away from her. “Uh– Sorry, Miss. You should get clear of this situation.” Past-Steve fumbles through his apology before rounding on _her_ Steve. “I have eyes on Loki,” he states into his comm, informing the rest of the past-team.

“I don’t want to fight you,” her Steve says.

Y/N rolls her eyes. Why can’t _one_ mission go according to plan just _one_ time? Clearly, that’s too much to ask, because her stupid boyfriend and stupid past-Steve have already flung their shields at each other.

“I can do this all day,” Past-Steve argues.

“Yeah, I know. I know,” her Steve grouses.

If she leaves this up to them, they might actually be here all day. The case tips over, the scepter falling out, rolling over the edge. Y/N doesn’t check to see if the boys follow; she’s already grabbed one of the shields. She phases into the fight a step behind Past-Steve and knocks him out with a slam to the head from the vibranium shield.

She doesn’t say anything to him as they collect the scepter and place it gently in the case. Apparently, he doesn’t think she deserves the same courtesy. “What the hell was _that_?”

“A distraction.” She shrugs.

“That was a very hands-on distraction.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue– a snarky, thoughtless comment (“Auditioning your replacement is kind of a hands-on job.”) that will break the fragile truce of the last day or two since her conversation with Wanda. Y/N snaps her mouth shut, clenching her teeth together. Her hands ball into fists, crushing the fake glasses she had shed moments ago, and frustration boils in her veins. Before she combusts and destroys their last hope, she struts toward the rendezvous point without looking back.

“We have a problem,” Tony admits from the front seat of the car to the pair that approaches.

Things move very quickly once Tony and Steve start speaking. There are a few too many “maybe”s and “almost”s for her comfort, but the planning is seamless between the two of them, an echo of an era long past; they’ve been fractured for far too long. They’re syncing their time travel GPSs before she can blink.

“1-9-7-0,” Tony promises.

“1970,” Steve agrees.

With a nod at her and Scott, they’re gone, and practically, she knows it’s maybe going to be seconds before she sees them again. But maybe not, and this was never how she wanted to say goodbye. 

“Let’s head back,” she orders, and if her tone is far too scathing, Scott says nothing. He’s quick to count off their return.

* * *

There’s a flash of light, and she’s surrounded by familiar faces, panting but hopeful. On Y/N’s right, Steve’s mask retracts, and he’s grinning at Tony in a way that she hasn’t seen in years. She turns her head slowly, cataloging everyone, searching for injuries.

“Where’s Harley?”

Y/N’s not sure who asked but the question makes her head snap toward Clint. His face is stormy and overcast, eyes shining with something she can’t place– something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“No,” she says. She thinks she’s shaking her head, but movement doesn’t seem to come naturally to her at the moment. If she thinks about it, breathing isn’t so easy either.

Everyone has walked away from the platform except for her, Clint, and Steve. Y/N grabs Clint’s arms, searching his eyes. “No.” It’s a denial. It’s a refusal.

Clint’s voice shakes as he tries to speak. “It’s– he shot me with a repulsor blast. I can’t–” he tries, but the words don’t come. “A soul for the stone. He wouldn’t let it be me.”

She thinks Clint says more, maybe more of an explanation, maybe an apology. She hopes someone’s listening because she _can’t_ hear him. It all gets muddled together– motions, breathing, sound, color. She hears screaming: gut-wrenching, heartbreaking screams and sobs.

_“Let me go! It should be me!”_

Her fingers hurt, and her throat is raw and scratchy; she wants the screaming to stop because it’s hurting her ears. Steve is wrapped around her, and Y/N realizes that the pain in her fingers is from clawing at his back, pushing him away.

Y/N presses a hand to her lips, a nervous habit that makes itself known on the rarest of occasions. Beneath aching fingers– even though _she still can’t hear_ – she feels her trembling lips shape the words. It’s not a defiant scream. There’s no energy left for anger, for fighting Steve as he restrains her. It’s a desperate plea, a whimper; she begs, knees on the ground in prayer position. “Let it be me.”

Just like that, with the disappearance of Peter Parker and the death of Harley Keener, the Three Musketeers become one.


	2. Maybe Probably

The heat of battle was finally wearing off as Steve sat in the Wakandan med bay, legs stretched out on a hospital bed. Bucky sat to his left, a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. Though Steve’s focus was elsewhere, he could appreciate the efficiency of T’Challa’s medical staff; the moment the hordes of victorious wounded had appeared (courtesy of portals from Steven Strange and company), they were triaged, thoroughly cleaned, and treated immediately with great care.

The updates on Tony came far and few between from various grave faces that Steve couldn’t remember if someone put a gun to his head. Relief had swelled for a moment at their triumph that had seemed so _impossible_ , but the sight of Tony crippled and propped up against warped metal and jagged concrete extinguished that feeling immediately.

Steve had stood a few feet back, Thor coming to stand next to him, and watched the scene unfold as horror and guilt gnawed at his heart. He wasn’t ashamed when hot, wet tears spilled from his eyes.

Sonny had rematerialized inches away from Tony, and a part of Steve breathed a sigh of relief. After Steve stood up and readjusted his broken shield, walking to face Thanos’s army on his own, she had combusted. He wasn’t sure that she had ever been immaterial, intangible, for that long. Vicious attacks from the ground and the air had made him grit his teeth with nerves, because if they were going to fight, Steve wanted Sonny by his side. The sight of suddenly destroyed Leviathans and mysteriously ravaged sections of troops were small mercies, letting Steve know she was alive and fighting with vigor.

Sonny spared Steve a glance, scanning him for severe injuries, but she must have not found anything too concerning because her focus was quickly redirected. Steve watched as she knitted her fingers through Peter’s hands and pulled him to her side, allowing Pepper to speak to him. However, instead of backing away, she had closed her eyes and stayed close to Tony’s side.

“You can rest now, Tony,” Pepper had said. Her voice shook, and there were tears in her eyes.

Sonny shook her head and had taken Pepper’s hand as well. Steve had assumed it was a comfort, something small to assure Pepper that Sonny was there, that Pepper would never be alone. It was only when he could taste the electricity in the air did he realize it was much more.

“Thor, hit me,” Sonny had commanded, with all the certainty in the world.

  
  
Without hesitation, Thor had complied, summoning a strike of lightning toward her that lit her up like fireworks on the fourth of July. Steve had jumped forward to– he wasn’t sure what he could to, but he needed to be with her, be there for her. Thor’s strong grip held him in place. He could do nothing but watch as Sonny’s skin began to glow, blue light seeping out and emanating from every pore.

Sonny had released Pepper to place a hand on Tony. There was no shock or explosion like everyone had been expecting, holding their breath in anticipation of the contact. Instead, small, blue sparks began to dance across Tony’s fingertips and ups his body along the path of irradiated skin. Sonny had shut her eyes and leaned forward, letting go of Peter to place her other hand on Tony, producing more of the same blue sparks.

She was gritting her teeth, but her hold on Tony was still gentle as she spoke. “I’m– meet us in Wakanda.” She had phased away, Tony disappearing with her.

That had been nearly seven hours ago. Since she had phased away, Steve had seen neither hide nor hair of Sonny.

Dr. Cho had given Steve strict instructions not to move for at least 12 hours after a thorough examination of every injury, and the Wakandan nurse with her had fervently agreed– so he had waited for Sonny to come to him.

Steve had seen Sam, limping and bandaged but still grinning. The two had exchanged a hug– it had been quick but tight and full of emotion that both were too weary to vocalize. Natasha had sat with him for over an hour, mostly in silence; the first few minutes had been full of tearful conversation and lighthearted teasing, but when silence had fallen, they took comfort in the respite and each other’s company. It was only when Bruce and Clint appeared at their side that Natasha made any effort to leave. Bruce had given Steve a soft smile and a pat on the shoulder, seemingly appeased that he was following the doctor’s orders for once; Bruce and Natasha had slipped away to whisper to each other in hushed tones which left Steve with Clint.

“Okoye helped me find and reach out to Harley’s mom and sister,” Clint had sighed, his head falling forward, so he was no longer meeting Steve’s eyes. “God, Steve. I mean, they just learned that he had to live without them for _five years,_ and now they have to learn to live without him _forever_. I don’t–” He broke off.

“They have each other. And, if you choose to, they can have you to turn to.” Steve’s voice had been soft, reassuring.

“Why would they want to lean on the man responsible for Harley’s death?”

Steve gave him a sharp look that evolved into something less fierce but no less piercing– his famous Look of Disappointment. “Harley would never have done what he did if he didn’t know for sure that his family would be taken care of. That means you too, Clint.”

Clint had eyed him curiously for a moment before nodding. He stepped away and walked in the direction that Bruce and Natasha had gone in just a minute ago. Steve had been fighting it for hours, but he finally allowed the quiet loneliness to draw him into the numbness of sleep.

When he had woken up, Steve saw that Bucky had taken up residence next to him, his metal arm looking exactly as it should– every scratch and dent had vanished, every trace of war had been wiped. Bucky looked worse for wear, but he didn’t say a word. His eyes flicked from his book to Steve when he felt Steve shift, but that was that.

Now, sitting in his bed, Steve had to wonder if Sonny was simply avoiding him. Nobody he asked had given him a straight answer, and Bucky had been given the same run-around. Steve’s one (weak) attempt at finding her had been thwarted by both his body nearly collapsing the moment he turned the corner and Bruce spotting him as he grasped the wall for support. He was still working up the energy for a second attempt.

He tilted his head closer to the door when he heard Peter’s voice in the corridor. The walls here were reinforced, and Steve had to strain his ears to pick up on the exchange between Peter and a woman he was almost certain was Dr. Cho.

“She hasn’t stopped, and her eyes are still blue, Dr. Cho!” Peter was frantic. That much was clear. Steve was also certain he was talking about Sonny. “I think– the surgeons said they’re almost done, and they worked around her, but I– she smells like smoke, Dr. Cho. You have to come,” Peter begged.

Steve stiffened. Sonny had been in the operating theater with Tony this entire time? She looked _exhausted_ the last time Steve had seen her. He understood her desire to save Tony, but not for the first time he wondered whether she would do it at the cost of her life– he didn’t have long to wonder because alarms blared not too far away just moments later.

Steve ran out into the hall, finding his second wind. He followed the alarms and stood outside the operating theater, facing a dozen or so of the Dora Milaje and Nakia who was at the front.

“Is it true?” Steve asked her, maybe more demanding than he had the right to be. “Is she…”

Nakia stepped forward and guided him away from the doors and back through a hallway or two. “Your Dr. Cho and the top surgeons in Wakanda are doing their best to care for both of them, Captain. It is my understanding that Sonny was the reason your Iron Man even made it to the operating table, and what she is doing is ensuring that the surgeons have the time and opportunity to save him,” she claimed, apprising him of the situation. She sighed, and pity flitted across her features for a moment before the steely resolve was back in place. “But, if it brings you comfort, and if you will stay in your bed, I will check on her myself.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, adopting a sheepish smile. “Thank you, Nakia.”

Steve made his way back to his room, still tense but less panicked. Keeping his cool seemed to be a lost cause, so he settled for maintaining a surface-level calm as he waited for Nakia’s update.

Nearly an hour passed before Peter appeared in the doorway of Steve’s room where Steve was waiting alone. Bucky had left some time ago to check on the others and make sure things were running smoothly.

“Can I come in?” Peter asked, looking more like the teenager Tony had recruited than the man he had grown to be– shy, awkward, and uncomfortable. When Steve nodded, Peter stepped nervously into the room, taking the seat Bucky had vacated not long ago. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Nakia said you came to check on Sonny,” he started, looking at Steve as if to see if that was true. “She and Mr. Stark are out of surgery, and we finally managed to separate them, thank _God._ Sonny woke up the second we managed to pull her away, and then after we reassure her that Mr. Stark is okay, that he’s gonna make it, she passed out. But– uh– neither of them is allowed visitors until the morning.”

Steve stilled for a moment. He was unmoving, but his thoughts ran rampant. Part of him wanted to laugh because it was so Sonny to wait until she knew Tony was okay before passing out. Part of him wondered what the implications of using so much power for so long might be, if it would have a lasting impact on her. Part him was just miserable, because all he wanted to do was hold her and see for himself that she was finally safe. “But both of them…”

“They’re both gonna be okay. Really, Cap,” Peter promised. His eyes were solemn.

“We missed you around here, kid,” Steve admitted with a fond smile, ruffling Peter’s hair. He laughed as Peter immediately whined and moved to straighten it out. Steve’s smile dropped as he thought about everything Peter had missed, everything Peter had now lost. “And I’m sorry about Harley. I wish there were something we could do.”

Peter didn’t reply for a long time, but he didn’t leave the room. He just sat at Steve’s bedside and stared at his hands. “It’s hard,” he finally said. “To know that the reason I’m back– that we’re all back– is because he sacrificed himself. I don’t know that I’ll ever stop being upset, but I’m trying to remember to be grateful, to not dismiss his sacrifice.” Peter was quiet again, but it was a weighted silence, and the emotion behind Peter’s next few words hung in the air. “I think… I think I owe you a lot. A lot of thank-yous. Because, Sonny– I mean– she must have–”

Steve took pity on him and cut him off. “You don’t owe me anything for being there for her, Peter. I love her.” If only things were that simple. “I’m sure you would have done the same.”

“Maybe,” Peter said speculatively. “Probably. But I don’t think I’m the one she would have wanted there.”


	3. All Signs Point to Yes

Y/N found herself wandering the edge of the lake that bordered one end of Tony’s property in the woods. She felt… maybe empty? Maybe full? She wasn’t sure.

Her eyes had stayed on the laurels in the lake until they floated out of sight, Mark I of Harley’s potato gun resting delicately on top of them. She had given and accepted warm hugs to everyone who had attended the funeral, stopped to converse with those she hadn’t seen since the battlefield.

  
  
Peter had been standing on one side of her until the laurels were placed in the water. She had felt his hand in hers start to shake; his breathing had become unsteady. With a shake of his head, he had turned away and walked inside, muttering something about needing to be alone. She had made a move to go after him, but Tony had clutched her hand with his metal one and directed his wheelchair into the house. She had turned back to the lake.

Seeing Clint had been difficult. Neither of them knew what to say. Y/N had embraced Laura and the kids, promising to visit them at the farmhouse as soon as possible. When she came face to face with Clint, words escaped her. She noticed his hands twitch at his sides, as if he wanted to hug her but couldn’t bring himself to. She could feel the guilt and sorrow radiating from him, thick and murky, difficult to breathe through, and she knows that’s not what Harley would have wanted. Gently, as gently as possible, she wrapped her arms around Clint and buried her face in his shoulder. Clint rubbed slow circles into her back, and she felt him shudder as he tucked her closer, as if he could protect her from the world that way.

They had only separated when Y/N caught sight of Harley’s mother and sister hovering on the periphery. Clint strayed away with his family, promising to see Y/N again later before they left.

Ariel looked almost exactly as she had the last time Y/N had seen her. Still barely pushing 4 feet, braces intact– still 13 years old. Y/N pulled her into a tight hug before pulling back quickly and scanning her up and down for any signs of injury or distress (other than the obvious). Finding nothing out of the ordinary, Y/N pulled her back in close. She had managed to keep from crying for the entire ceremony, and she could hold back her tears now.

Y/N felt Kate put a hand on her back. Katelyn Keener may not have been the most attentive or most present mother in the world, but she loved her kids with everything she had and more. Y/N could _feel_ the hole in her heart, the massive void in her chest created by the loss of her son. As soon as Kate brought her in for a hug, Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, weeping as she embraced the older woman. “I’m sorry. I would do anything for it to be me. I promised you I would look after him, and– God, Kate– I would trade anything in the world for it to be Harley standing here right now. I should’ ve– I’m sorry.”

Again and again, Y/N apologized, a chorus of “sorry” s ringing through the grief-stale air. When she finally found her breath again, Kate tilted her chin up before she had a moment to be embarrassed.

“Sweetie, my son, God bless him, was as stubborn as they come. I don’t think there was anything you or anyone could’ve done to stop him– Lord knows Clint tried. Now, you knew my Harley better than almost anyone, so I know you know that.” Kate’s voice was soft and sweet, comforting. There was no blame or anger in her, but she was bursting at the seams with sadness. “Promise me, I’m not gonna hear any more of that nonsense about how it should’ve been you. Because I know my son wouldn’t hear a word of that.”

Y/N nodded. Maybe she could stop herself from saying it, but she didn’t think anything would stop her from feeling that way. Kate was right; Y/N knew Harley Keener better than almost anyone, so if anyone could’ve stopped him, it was her.

“Harley gave us all another chance. We have to take it, Sweetie,” Kate urged her. “We can’t just _survive–_ we have to live.”

Tony and Pepper had intercepted Kate and Ariel moments later and ushered them inside; it looked like it was about to rain. Y/N remembered saying something about joining them later, needing a moment by herself.

She was soaked to the bone by the time she finally wandered back to the docks. Y/N took notice of the pedestal where Harley’s Iron Lad suit would be placed after some adjustments, forever immortalizing him.

_We can’t just survive. We have to live._

Once upon a time, Y/N thought that she was the girl who lived life to the fullest, and there was reason enough to believe that. She had indulged nearly every whim in college, with Peter and Harley by her side. She smiled as much as she could, laughed to her heart’s content, and appreciated every moment as it came. She felt everything so deeply and fully– not just her own emotions, but everyone’s. She was connected to the world in a way that nobody else could be.

Was that living?

Y/N thought she was the girl who lived life to the fullest when she threw caution to the wind and kissed Steve. His touch filled her with a sense of home and happiness. They fought with a passion and urgency that stoked a fire in her, a burn that only the feeling of his body against hers could soothe. She felt bone-deep want when she was with him, and she ached for him when he was gone– she had assumed that was living.

Y/N allowed pain, grief, and misery to rip her to shreds. When a terrorist cell had kidnapped and weaponized her, forced her to kill, and scrambled her brain throughout her childhood, she embraced the painful emotions that came with it. When she realized her parents couldn’t stand the sight of her, she felt self-hatred and heartbreak sear through her. When her sister had turned out to be a child Hydra soldier who would rather die than turn sides, Y/N allowed misery and grief to wash over her. Feeling both the good and the bad– she had assumed that was living.

Now, everything was uncertain. None of that felt like _enough_ – was that what Harley had died for? Harley didn’t sacrifice himself just so that she could laugh one more time. Harley hadn’t shot Clint with a repulsor blast so that she could kiss Steve again. He didn’t swan dive on to the rock face so that she could cry over spilled milk.

“Hey, kiddo. Pep’s been looking for you.” Tony’s voice was soft enough that it didn’t startle her– what did startle her was that she was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn’t even sense him coming.

“You probably shouldn’t be out in the rain,” Y/N ventured, turning to look at him properly for the first time in days. Since she had passed out in a recovery room in Wakanda, she had been unable to meet his eyes. _Seven hours–_ she spent seven hours jumpstarting Tony’s neural connectivity, focusing, intensifying, and facilitating his healing process, and he was still tied to a wheelchair for the next few weeks. _Pathetic._ That wasn’t what Harley died for.

Tony’s eyes were stormy and dark, clouded with grief and frustration. “Wheel me in, then.”

“You go ahead. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“I can wait,” Tony retorted, but his defiant stance was broken by the shiver that racked through him.

Y/N frowned. “Tony, you have to take care of yourself. Harley would’ve wanted–”

He was quick to interrupt her. “We don’t know what Harley would’ve really wanted. I’m sorry, kid. I know he was your best friend, but even you can’t know _everything_ he would think or say.” He urged her to understand. “I miss him, too, but I’ve lost a lot of people, good people; you know what I’ve learned? You can’t live by them or for them.”

  
  
Y/N was silent.

“If I’m remembering right, in being stubborn, you and Harley gave me a run for my money. I can’t think of a single day when you two didn’t fight about _something_ – even if it was pizza toppings,” Tony reminisced. She couldn’t remember the exact argument he was talking about, but it had brought a smile to his lips, and more than anyone, Tony deserved to smile. He quirked an eyebrow up at her. “Hell, five times out of ten, you two were fighting about you and Capsicle. You ending things with the fossil because Harley wasn’t a fan?”

Y/N took the end of his spiel as her cue to begin wheeling him inside. She knew it was a joke because Tony didn’t know– she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell him, and she knew he and Steve certainly hadn’t been trading secrets and braiding each other’s hair.

She couldn’t lie to herself. There was a part of her, however small, that was willing to abandon all dignity and beg on her hands and knees for Steve to stay. She knew he would if she did; he was too kind-hearted for his own good. That almost made the idea worse, and the fact that she had considered it made it difficult to meet her own eyes in the mirror in the mornings.

The rest of her, the redeemable parts of her, knew that Steve Rogers deserved better than a washed-up, ex-mass murderer with so much baggage that even Tony Stark couldn’t build a closet big enough to store it all. He deserved someone like Peggy Carter, founder of SHIELD and an admirable woman if Steve’s and Tony’s stories were anything to go by.

That Harley would never have approved was the cherry on top of a laundry list of reasons why she shouldn’t be with Steve.

She wheeled Tony into the cabin through the garage, rainwater seeping through their clothes, the chill finally enveloping her. Peter came to the door to help Tony into a seat while Y/N brought the wheelchair inside.

Sitting in the kitchen, dripping water on the floor as Pepper wrapped her in towels, Y/N felt like she might as well be shaking a magic eight ball: _Should I say goodbye to Steve Rogers? All signs point to yes._


End file.
